


a million lightyears away (from you)

by try_reset (technorat)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, M/M, Pining, Post-TLJ, hux is tired
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 11:13:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13546182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technorat/pseuds/try_reset
Summary: Following Crait, Hux takes a medical leave, to recover from his injuries.Supreme Leader Kylo Ren does not approve.





	1. Cycle 0

**Author's Note:**

> Kylo Ren is mean (and will be mean for a few chapters), full disclosure. 
> 
> warnings for this chapter: violence (force related), injuries are described but nothing graphic
> 
> you can find me at gaygalaxyguy.tumblr.com !
> 
> thank you too ee-void for looking this over!!

  
  


Hux marches onto the Bridge exactly 5 minutes and 43 seconds late to his shift. He holds a com tucked in the crook of his arm, lips pressed together to reveal nothing. He heads straight to Ren, who stands at the very front, beside the transparisteel windows.

Hux hands him the datapad without a word.

Ren takes it from him, glancing down.  _ Approved request for sick leave. Medical files attached-- Vacation days used to extend-- _

"What--" Ren says, words leaving his throat in a growl. "--is the meaning of this?"

Hux tilts his chin up, defiant. He sniffs. "My forms for taking my allotted week's worth of medical leave, sir," he says, sounding like the beaten dog he is. "And, in addition, it is recommended that I pull from unused vacation days to extend my leave and allow me to heal properly."

His voice is hoarse and weak, a rasping little thing that irritates Ren's ears.

Ren shakes his head, leather gloves creaking as he grips the datapad so tightly he nearly breaks it.

They're on the Bridge. Front and center. With everyone watching. This is a strategic ploy, as is everything with Hux.

The Bridge has quieted, the typing of many fingers slowing as everyone cranes their necks to listen in on their superiors.

"This is unacceptable," Ren says, stepping into Hux's space. He looms over Hux, towering over the thin man. Hux's throat bobs, working around nothing. He wets his lips, growing paler.

Hux's eyes flicker away from Ren's face, eyeing his belt, where the lightsaber is clipped.

Ren raises a brow.

It gives the General a moment to compose himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. He thinks, the gears turning loudly in his head. "If the vacation days are unacceptable, surely--"

"No," Ren says, his teeth clashing together painfully. He nearly breaks them with the pressure he exerts. "What sort of a pathetic creature comes crawling asking for a  _ vacation _ when the Resistance stands on its last legs?"

Ren spins away, putting distance between him and the General. Never had he thought Hux would run, now of all times. It isn't the first time he's been wrong about an individual, however.

Hux.

A coward, a weakling. Snoke's rabid curr.

Someone who holds the loyalty of the young officers of the First Order.

Hux waits, almost patiently, for Ren to finish his tantrum. He blinks and continues on, as if he hadn't heard a word that Ren said. 

"The medical leave isn't a request," he rasps. "It is a mandatory--"

"Forbidden," Ren snaps. "I'm your superior officer and I forbid you from taking a vacation now."

"As you can see," Hux says, lowering his voice, the Bridge only growing more quiet at that. "These forms are of critical importance for my health. I am to take this leave, regardless of if you approve of it or not. If I do not take time to heal, then I will not be able to properly serve you and the First Order, Supreme Leader."

Hux's voice cracks at the end.

It echoes throughout the Bridge.

Nervous, hurt energy spirals out, wrapping around Ren's throat.

_ Poor General. He looks ill-- _

_ Will Kylo throw him aside again-- _

_ Why is he Supreme Leader?-- _

_ General-- _

_ General-- _

_ Stars, someone help Hux... _

Ren can't hold back his anger, as his brows furrow, as his eyes narrow. He raises a hand--

Hux flinches, what little color in his face draining instantly.

_ No-- _

_ This can't be allowed-- _

_ Hands wrapping around standard issue pistols, ready to fling their lives away for the safety of their General. _

Their loyalty still lies with Hux. Even after everything.

"Dismissed," Ren all but spits, mouth filled with sudden bitterness. He waves Hux off.

Hux nods, trembling. But just barely. "Thank you, Supreme Leader," he says, not meaning it in the slightest.

Ren turns away, glaring at the stars for all they had not helped to prevent.

*

Like the cowardly, spineless man Hux is, he disappears soon into the ship, his medical forms transferred to the Supreme Leader's com.

Good, Ren thinks bitterly. He can handle things better on his own, with no Hux to hold him back. No Hux to roll his eyes and to snipe sarcastic comments.

Actually. This new development may be a good thing for the new Supreme Leader.

The officers are wary of him, as he approaches one of the consoles, manned by a squirming and pale young officer. He leans over it (and the poor officer), glancing at the screen, as he's seen Hux do many, many times.

Data streams through quickly, difficult for his eyes to follow.

"You there," Ren barks. He doesn't know the officer's name or rank. Doesn't want to care. "Report."

The officer swallows loudly. "Ah, yes, Supreme Leader," they say slowly. "We are still searching for the source of the deceased Supreme Leader Snoke's assets. Currently--"

"Still searching?" Ren says.

"Yes, sir," the officer says.

"Why?"

Snoke had been rich--that was sure, with how extravagantly he lived, with his golden robbe and commissioned armor for the deceased Praetorian Guards. Hells, the Praetorian Guards themselves had been a pricey experiment of Snoke's.

But surely the First Order had other sources of money.

The officer squirms. "We-- we are running low on assets, sir, and we have yet to replenish our supplies after the Confrontation of Crait."

Ren doesn't think. He only  _ acts _ , flinging the officer halfway across the room with the Force.

The officer lands in a painful heap, all air leaving them at once. Their hat falls off their head, their black hair falling across their forehead messily. They scramble themself to their feet, clutching at their ribs. "S-sir," they say.

"Is the First Order so foolish as to have no other source of riches than the generosity of a man who never truly cared for the cause?" Ren snaps, words echoing through the Bridge.

The silence assaults him.

He leaves the Bridge.

_ * _

_ Attent: Gen. A. Hux _

_ Subject: (none) _

 

_ where the kriff's all our money _

_ - _

_ Attent: Supreme Leader Kylo Ren _

_ Subject: On the matter of funding _

 

_ Please see the attached reports. I have submitted these previously but have taken the liberty of highlighting the sections of importance. _

_ - _

_ Attent: Gen. A. Hux. _

_ Subject: re:On the matter of funding _

 

_ I thought you were on sick leave. _

_ - _

_ Attent: Supreme Leader Kylo Ren _

_ Subject: re:re:On the matter of funding _

 

_ With all due respect, why message me if you thought I wouldn't answer, sir? _

_ - _

Ren throws his com across the room, the screen shattering against his bedroom's farthest wall.

*

He wakes to over three thousand messages on his datapad.

Ren rubs at his tired eyes and takes a look.

 

_ Subject: Allocation of assets _

_ Subject: Report on Sector-- _

_ Subject: Academy graduation-- _

_ Funding-- _

_ Troops-- _

_ Training-- _

_ Weaponry-- _

His head spins at it all. He reads a few messages, grinding his teeth. Shouldn't there be lesser ranking officers that should receive these little, trivial notices.

Ren reassigns tasks, sending them to whatever officer he deems fit for the task.

He rolls out of his bed an hour later and his mood vastly depleted. Ren inhales a protein ration and takes a quick sonic.

He dresses in a simple, loose tunic and leggings and kneels before the smoldered helmet of Darth Vader. The asymmetrical gaping holes where his eyes once were stare out at Ren.

But nothing watches him, with Snoke gone.

"Grandfather," Ren tries, swallowing thickly. "I am... at a loss for what I am to do."

His grandfather doesn't answer. His mask, his skull, just lies on its pedestal, not watching, not listening. Perhaps angry for the loss of his son.

Everyone was valued higher than Ren--respected more, loved more, thought of more.

Everyone.

Even the cur, Hux.

Hux.

Ren snorts.

Right about now, what would Hux be doing? That man is nothing without his work. A full week on sick leave? Ha. Hux wouldn't make it through half.

Ren shuts his eyes and pushes  _ out. _

*

_ Hux. Lying to his shoulders in a steaming, bubbling bath. The tub is ivory, but not nearly as pale as Hux's skin. Bruises litter his form--circled around his throat, up and down his sides, lower, lower still. _

_ Hux leans his neck back against the ivory and lets out a sigh. _

_ Everything is painful and stiff. _

_ A droid beeps helpfully. _

_ "Ah, already?" Hux says, speaking more respectfully to the droid than he has to some of his very human underlings. _

_ The droid beeps again. A medical model, not particularly designed to be humanoid. With two, long rod-like arms it holds out a heated towel. _

_ Hux stands, bubbles clinging to his form and wraps himself in the towel, stepping out of the tub. _

_ The droid drains the abandoned tub and, as it bends, gives Ren a view on the grand window. White sand and crystal clear waters, just a short walk away. _

_ This isn't a medical leave, as Hux had said it would be. _

_ This is a  _ vacation _. _

_ Once dry, Hux dresses himself in a silky, blue robe and matching slippers. His shoulder aches. His throat pains him. _

Ren loses his concentration. He curses, slamming a hand against the wall. In a rush, he picks up his com, the screen shattered to bits.

The hologram blips to life--a blue-tinged version of Hux, shoulders up and scowling. "Supreme Leader," he greets. "What can I do for you?" His hair is unruly, pushed backwards, away from his forehead, to little avail. 

The bruises wrapped around his throat have never been clearer.

His voice, rasping. Weak.

"Where are you?" Ren asks.

Hux blinks twice, pressing his lips together. "I have been received at the Scarif medical resort," Hux says quietly, eyes smoldering. "It was written in my medical files, sir."

Ren grits his teeth. "Who do you think I am? Some lesser ranking officer, to page through every report that's sent my way?"

Hux quirks a brow. "When you took on a leadership position, you took on all of the responsibilities it entailed too." He pauses, brows knitting close together, clutching at his throat.

Ren lowers his hand, shocked. He hadn't realized he'd raised it to begin with.

Hux's eyes water. He blinks the tears away. "Was that all, sir?" he says, more tightly than before. Each breath is a pain.

Ren did this.

"Dismissed," Ren says, flexing his hands.

In the background, a droid beeps alarmingly at Hux, urging him away.

Ren slumps to the floor, staring at the melted helm of his grandfather.

*

Scarif.

A beach lined planet that had been once a place for the Empire's most secretive projects and its most delicate research.

Now turned into a First Order sanctioned medical facility.

Ren pores through the material available on the holonet--idyllic videos and pamphlets, only available to those who served the First Order's military. And all of it seemed like treatments one might procure at one of the New Republic's spas.

Salt water baths to reinvigorate flesh. Specialized masseurs. Exfoliation and relaxation of tired skin.

A heated pool is even advertised.

None of it sounds like actual health care. Ren huffs, rolling his eyes. Hux had lied to his face, and kept to the lie, even through the choke hold Ren had put on him half the Galaxy away.

Ren barges out of his room, heading towards the ship bay.

"Have my ship prepared," he barks at a random officer.

She loses what little color there is to her face before saluting and squeaking out a surprised, "Yes sir!"

Hux had lied to him.

And for that, the cur would pay.

*

The Silencer had been hastily prepared, outfitted with a week's worth of standard rations and enough water for that amount of time as well. Probably more time if he rationed well.

But he wouldn't take that long.

He sits at the helm, gripping the controls tightly, even as the stars meld into one.

Objective: Go to Scarif. Drag the lying Hux by his hair into the ship and get him back to work. Never read another drawn out report again.

It seems fair.


	2. Cycle 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you once again ee-void for beta-ing
> 
> warnings for this chapter: mild descriptions of injuries
> 
> I made a moodboard for this fic
> 
> http://gaygalaxyguy.tumblr.com/post/170402239902/a-million-lightyears-away-from-you-following
> 
> hope you enjoy!

Sand.

His grandfather before him hated sand.

So it feels almost right that he does too.

The Scarif Medical Resort is propped up on a hill, an entire beach before it. Ren traverses the hot sand, tugging at his collar. Sweat drips underneath his cloak and heavy black tunic.

This is what Hux had abandoned his post for.

The burning sun and luxury of a resort.

Ren snorts, fingers twitching. He hopes Hux burned himself already, hopes his skin grew red and peeling.

A medical droid rolls out to greet him, beeping at him in binary, painted various pleasant shades of blue.

Ren tosses it aside with a flick of the Force.

It lands in the sand, wriggling and beeping in distress, stuck upside down.

Ren ignores it, pushing open the doors of the resort and letting himself into the lobby.

It's... clean, is his first reaction. Light blue walls and beige furnishings, all soft and weak. No one lounges about, as Ren would have expected. No alcoholic drinks, as he also had suspected.

A human secretary sits at a tiny desk. He looks up at Ren's heavy footfalls and loses all color in his face. The inconsequential man leaps to his feet, saluting sharply. "Supreme Leader Ren!" he barks. "We hadn't been expecting you. What shall you--"

Ren waves a hand--the young man's knees giving out underneath him, sending him crashing back onto his chair.

"Where is General Hux?" Ren says.

The man's face goes through a series of emotions before collecting himself. "General Hux--" He picks up a datapad and flicks through it. "He should be in the hot mineral baths right about now. Shall I--"

"You'll take me to him," Ren says.

The man swallows tightly, only growing more pale. "Of course sir." He scurries out from behind the rather small desk, leading the way through long, decorative walls.

He wears something similar to robes--loose, relaxed. Soft.

Ren snorts, causing the man to only walk faster.

Fear spills from the worker like water from an overly full glass. Anxiety. He'd been scared when General Hux was transferred to this facility, more so than the higher ranking but retired members of the First Order that the facility so often serves.

The man's name was something like Luis Flows, one of the few non-droid employees.

Ren tucks that scrap of knowledge away. Who would know when it'd become useful?

Luis stops suddenly, before a glass door, leading to the outside. "The hot mineral baths are outside, well within the view of one of the salt streams. They are a source of pride--"

Ren grinds his teeth together.

Luis lowers his head, speaking quicker. "--for our humble and loyal facility. Supreme Leader, I ask this on behalf of the cleanliness and sterility of the Scarif Medical Resort, but would you be so kind as to switch your boots for clean sandals?"

Ren looks down at him, raising a brow.

Luis ducks his head further. "I apologize, sir. Please forget that I asked."

He opens the door and holds it for Ren.

Immediately, Ren is assaulted with hot, humid air. Just outside the cool, calm building is a small wooden platform. Beyond it is water, water from the salt flow leading to the ocean, water bubbling up from beneath several hot springs.

Within one is Hux, his elbows resting against the hot spring's stone frame, his shoulders peeking out from the water. His hair is slicked back against his skull, made dark by the water.

He looks up at the commotion, his eyes meeting Ren's own.

It takes all of Hux's strength not to roll his eyes.

Luis bows. "I will leave you then," he says, all in a rush, before running away.

The door clicks shut behind Ren.

Hux hasn't said a word. He only sighs and turns his head, fixing his eyes upon the flowing water before him.

Ren regrets not taking the sandals from Luis when he'd offered. But it's too late now. He cannot show remorse or the capability for error. He wades through the ankle deep water with his boots on, the water seeping into his clothes.

"Supreme Leader," Hux croaks, when Ren is too close to ignore. The bruises wrapped around his throat are still raw and angry, somewhere in the process of healing. 

"Hux," Ren says, not dignifying the man with his title. "You need to come back to the Order."

Hux rests his chin on his laced hands. 

"We are too close to defeating the Resistance for you to run," Ren says, feeling as his teeth creak from pressure.

Hux shuts his eyes, even. Still ignoring him.

Ren splashes forth, standing between Hux and the stream. He squats. Viciously, he thinks about drowning Hux. It'd be so easy to push down upon his head and hold him under.

Hux sighs lowly, opening one eye. "This is the first cycle of my medical leave and you're already asking me to come back?" A heartbeat later, he adds, "Supreme Leader."

His disrespect should not stand. Ren sees red.

"You're the General," Ren stresses. "But your duties have far outgrown your title."

Hux quirks a brow. "That sounds awfully like you're considering promoting me, sir."

"Only if you return. Only if you earn it."

"My robe, please," Hux calls.

For a moment, Ren is enraged further. His leather gloves squeak as he clenches his fists. Before he can externalize his rage, however, a droid comes teetering out of a cubby, a folded robe in its small arms with a pair of slippers stacked on top.

Hux stands up quickly, exiting the hot spring, utterly nude but for his extensive bruises. He reaches out, taking the clothing and dressing himself slowly, as to not aggravate his wounds.

It gives Ren ample time to run his eyes across Hux's thin form.

Like a starved, beaten dog, ribs visible underneath purpled flesh. 

"If you would excuse me, Supreme Leader," Hux says, tying the sash around his waist into a neat little bow. It holds the robe together, pinching in the formless thing at Hux's middle. "It's time for my  _ lunch _ ."

He had never heard the word said with such vitriol.  

It's almost laughable.

Hux reenters the facility, both men ignoring the wet squelching noises of his now damp sandals.

*

Ren follows Hux's quick pace to Hux's temporary quarters at the resort, squeezing in even as the door slides shut.

Hux allows it, thinking murderous thoughts surely. His hands are balled into fists, nails biting the flesh of his palms.

The inside of the room continues the resort's theme of soft blues and beiges. A tray with a warm, steaming soup along with other small plates and bowls sit on a tiny bedside table. Most of the room is occupied by the canopy bed, heaps of blankets thrown upon it. And, on the center of the bed, is a dozing ginger cat.

"What's that?" Ren asks, jerking his chin in the direction of the creature.

Hux sighs. He exchanges his sandals for another pair, this set white and fluffy. "That, sir, is a cat."

"I know that," Ren snaps, waving in the creature's general direction. "What is it doing  _ here _ ?"

Hux walks to the edge of the bed, sitting on it gingerly. A sandal falls from his foot to the ground, so quickly forgotten. Hux makes no move to correct that. He scratches between the cat's ears, its rumbling purrs filling the room.

"Her name is Millicent. She was assigned as... an emotional support animal." Hux stops petting her at that.

She opens her eyes and lets out a long, drawn out meow.

With that, Hux sighs softly and pets her again, this time, right underneath her chin.

"Since when have you had emotions that needed supporting?" Ren asks, disdain coloring his words.

Hux lets out a short bark of laughter. "It's what medical personnel at the resort think. It doesn't mean they are right."

Hearing Hux laugh is uncomfortable. Seeing him pet a creature gently, allow it to crawl onto his lap and mewl? Even more so. When he smiles, he looks younger. Combined with the wet, loose hair across his forehead, he almost looks like a different man.

Ren swallows.

He leaves the room silently, the images of Hux's... mortality burnt to the insides of his eyelids.

_ Hux is a rabid cur _ , he tells himself.  _ Snoke kept him around for his technical expertise and to deal with bureaucracy, nothing more. _

*

Ren gets all the way back to his ship, parked and abandoned right on Scariff's shores, without thinking just what to do. He storms into the Silencer, relieved of the afternoon sun's oppressive heat.

He throws himself into the pilot's seat, slumping down. His datapad comes flying at the slightest twitch of his fingers,

He lights it up.

Over a thousand unread messages.

Ren sees red for a moment. He'd assigned other, lesser men to the numerous tasks beneath his station and he still had to deal with this nonsense?

What was the point of obtaining the title of Supreme Leader when you were expected to deal with the tiniest, most ridiculous squabbles and the vicious world of politics?

Just raze the planets of the dissenters and be done with it.

It all serves to give him a resounding headache.

Ren tosses the datapad aside, instead staring out at the clear, blue skies. The warmth of the sun soaks in through the viewports of the Silencer making the ship's air warm and sleepy.

He shuts his eyes, massaging his temples.

Sleep greets him, almost like an old friend.

*

He wakes up to the foul taste of his own mouth, dry and sickeningly sweet.

Ren stands, his body aching. As he stretches, his bones protest.

Night has come to Scariff, plunging the world into darkness. The land belonging to the medical resort is lit with torches. How absolutely primitive. This is what the First Order spends money on?

He'll correct that soon enough.

Ren's booted feet sink into the wet sands. The current is coming in, crashing against the pristine shore.

The medical facility calls to him, how lanterns call to moths.

He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the sensation.

It doesn't work. If anything, it serves to make the feeling  _ stronger. _

He follows the call right back to the medical facility, right outside the door to Hux's room. He doesn't knock, only slides open the door with the Force. Hux sits on his bed, a tray laid upon his lap, a paltry meal atop that.

To Hux's credit, the man does little more than look up from his meal--yet another light broth, the mild spicy scent rolling off of it. Even Millicent reacts more animatedly, her ears perking up, gazing at him from her perch on the foot of the bed.

"Supreme Leader," Hux greets casually, as if he'd been expecting Ren.

"Hux." Ren takes careful strides to the canopy bed. He kicks off his boots and sits beside the man, bouncing Hux with his additional weight on the springy bed. Soup sloshes over the rim of the bowl, spilling onto the tray.

"Shall I order another meal to be brought to the room, sir?" Hux asks, voice dripping with contempt.

Ren's brows furrow. He opens his mouth, but his stomach chooses to speak for him instead, letting out a low, drawn out growl.

Hux nods to himself. "Very well then, sir." He picks up a datapad and types something quickly, returning it to the bedside table just as quickly.

"A rationbar would be faster," Ren says, even as Hux spoons himself more broth. "More efficient."

"I said the same to the medics, sir," Hux says, injecting as much spite as he possibly can into the  _ sir.  _ "But they said it wouldn't be as efficient for the absorption of nutrients." His voice cracks. "They say broth also soothes the throat."

Ren's eyes fall to the bob of Hux's throat.

His slender neck is still painted with bruises, done by Ren's hand.

Hux continues to eat, falling silent. He has nothing more to say.

*

He doesn't remember falling asleep. He wakes up with a jolt, warm breath hitting his face. Ren blinks his eyes open, finding himself curled uncomfortably close to a sleeping Hux.

Sometime earlier that night, Ren had fallen asleep in the same bed as Hux, blankets drawn over their shoulders. They're uncomfortably close, noses practically pressed together.

Hux doesn't stir, even as Ren sits up.

He sleeps like a child, curled up into himself, arms wrapped around his stomach. Hux looks younger, with his hair loose and splayed across his forehead. His brows pinch in together, lips pursing.

Hux is having a nightmare, anxiety and fear coiling off of him.

It should give him pleasure. Seeing his former co-commander and general nuisance made small and trembling should... make him feel something more than a twinge of pity.

Ren reaches out, pressing a finger to the furrow between his brows.

It's simple enough to soothe his mind, relieve him of troubled dreams. Hux's expression softens, as his mind calms, drifting towards a dreamless slumber.

Ren frowns. Why should he care for the quality of Hux's sleep?

The man was used to the deprivation of sleep. Why try to help, when Hux would never thank him?

Silence, but for Hux's breath, for the ocean's waves outside. Nothing pulls at him. Nothing calls him. The Force is curiously silent in these matters.

Millicent perks her head up, staring at him with her bright green eyes. Slowly, she rises to all fours and leaps from the bed.

She has the right idea.

  
  



	3. Cycle 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [Martin](ee-void.tumblr.com) for beta-ing this!
> 
> warnings: no major warnings for this chapter.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! You can find me on tumblr [here](http://gaygalaxyguy.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/gay_galaxy_guy) !

Ren returns to the Finalizer, finding everything... approximately in order. The energy is more buzzed, more intense, nearly choking him--but the drones are at work. That should be a good thing.

"Supreme Leader," Lieutenant Mitaka says, saluting sharply. He commands the Bridge, despite his trembling. "How was your... meeting with General Hux?"

Ren thinks of tossing him from the closest airlock. To ask so directly. To ask so soon. Mitaka fostered contempt and fear of his Supreme Leader. He ought to be punished. So did so many of his underlings.

Clearly. No one had taught them their proper places.

But then again, Hux would have a hissy fit at that. He had his favorite personal lieutenants. Even Ren knew that. And the younger officers were loyal to Hux, worshipped the ground he stood on even.

"Update, Lieutenant," Ren barks instead of answering, walking towards one of the unattended meeting rooms.

Mitaka stiffens, before quickly adjusting--giving someone else the Bridge and following Ren as quickly as he can.

In the meeting room, Mitaka pulls off his cap. His hair is slick with pomade and sweat. His little bravado from the Bridge melts away when alone, separated from the hive.

"Update me," Ren says, settling in a chair, spreading his legs.

Mitaka grows pale. He plays with the fabric of his hat, fingers running along the First Order's insignia. He clears his throat. "We believe we've found a portion of Snoke's funds, which has been put to your account, sir. In addition, we are treating those recovered from ships damaged in Admiral Holdo's final maneuver."

Mitaka pulls out a datapad, flicking through notes. His fingers shake. "We will need time and continuous funding to recover ships and treat the survivors."

Ren nods, stroking his chin. "Very well. Anything else to report?"

“No, sir. Nothing has been found on the whereabouts of the Resistance.” Mitaka worries his lower lip. Anxiety escapes from his skin, filling the air with its stench. "Sir, is... General Hux alright?"

Ren blinks.

He should have expected something like that.

The weak little man, and all the young crew members like him, worry for their general. As if he had died or been critically injured, not simply on medical leave. They function without him, fixated on his return.

"The General is fine," Ren snaps, his teeth clicking together. What he would do for someone to show him the same sort of loyalty.

Mitaka stiffens, his shoulders hitching up. "Sorry, sir. We hope for his speedy recovery. May I be dismissed, sir?"

Ren waves him off.

*

He’s given a datapad by one of the officers, the cycle’s schedule color-coded in blues and greens. His schedule had not been so busy since those early childhood days he spent with Leia, watching her play the delicate game of politics. 

It’s only fitting that he returns to the game, now fully grown into himself.

Ren breezes through a financial meeting with several specialized officers, reorganizing and distributing funds from the portion of Snoke’s assets that they have found. His assets run deep. And though they are have not even nearly gone through it, Ren orders them to continue searching for what funds are left, floating somewhere.

After that, he rushes to a different meeting, this one held in a holoconference chamber, most of its guests far from the Finalizer, on their own home planets. 

Each a dignitary, an ambassador—hesitantly attending the meeting. 

Their desires swirl around him thickly. It’s painfully clear that they’ve grown desperate, with the seat of the Republic’s government destroyed, cheeks hollow with malnutrition. He can use this for his advantage.

Never had he considered ruling an Empire.

But they stand before him, the Darkness clouding his mind.

He distributes spare food supplies to those that had requested the preliminary talks. Soon, they would be back for treaties. Soon the foundations to his Empire would come together.

He’d need people to rely on then. 

People he could trust.

Ren could laugh at the very concept. Even his Knights had all failed him eventually.

*

Ren meets with the First Order High Council, and is not impressed by the aging, sagging men and their superiority complexes. Already, they think they can take Hux's place.

No, it wouldn't do.

Treachery seeps from the High Command. They have no loyalty towards him. (And... while one could say the same about Hux, at least he knows the man. Knows he is valuable, that he has skills needed by Ren and his administration.)

They smile at him, but inside their thoughts are venomous things.

“I shall see these contracts completed by the end of the cycle, Supreme Leader,” simpers one of the unnecessary admirals. His cheeks are full and ruddy, and though he smiles, Ren senses no loyalty, no faith, in either the past Supreme Leader and the present.

At the very least, the tedious tasks Ren had been responsible for were now in the hands of those who'd actually like to push datapads all cycle. All the old men who have nothing to do but to follow at Ren’s heels and try to win him over with sweet words, all the while plotting Ren’s death and their own ascensions.

It’s. Unsurprising, but so dreadfully annoying.

The continuing silence of the Resistance and their allies should be bothersome. Lying low after taking such heavy casualties. It gives him time to move in on the abandoned systems, ones desperate for leadership.

(Would his mother be proud of him? Following in her political footsteps.)

It shouldn't be so frustrating--reaching out for the scavenger girl and feeling nothing.

But it is.

He breathes, slowly. Inhales through his nose. Exhales from the mouth.

One of the walls of his personal quarters is smoldering, laced with slashes from his lightsaber. Ren powers it off, clipping it to his belt. His hair clings to his face with sweat. His entire body shakes, cold now.

He feels like a veritable wildman.

His legs tremble underneath him, even as he carries himself to bed. The bed is narrow, sheets thin, the same standard sheets used by every officer, by every Stormtrooper in the First Order’s employ. 

He breathes, slower, longer.

Rationally, he knows that he should go to his fresher. That he should change out of his filthy clothing.

But, alas, there is still much to be done.

Ren reaches out, snatching up his com. There is only one person who he can call, who he can rely on, even if it’s only slightly. One person who could help in the discrete snuffing of High Command.

Hux answers after the third ring. His holographic form is submerged in water, a furrow between his brows.  _ “Supreme Leader,”  _ he greets, bare shoulders poking out from under the water. They’re slender—as slender as Ren remembers.  _ “How may I help you?” _

Ren squints. “Are you in Scarif’s ocean?” he asks. Hux never seemed like one meant for the outdoors. He’d like to see him encounter an odd piece of seaweed; how he’d kick and fail, burning under the natural UVs of a sun.

Hux rolls his eyes.  _ “No sir. I’m in one of the resort’s pools. I’ve been given exercise suggestions to help heal my injuries and to keep me fit.” _

Ren nods. He won’t apologize for interrupting such a thing. The heated pool, he wants to ask. He knows it is there, advertised quite prominently. It seems more like a luxury than a tool.

Hux’s shoulders are narrow, made more petite by the hologram and by the lack of his padded clothing. If he squints, Ren thinks he can see freckles along Hux’s bony shoulders, across the bridge of his nose. He can’t tear his eyes away.

_ “What is it, sir?” _ Hux asks, growing impatient. He struggles to hide it. It almost makes Ren smile, thin lipped and vicious.

Ren leans his cheek against his fist. “Dealing with the First Order High Command is rather tedious, especially when they think you’ll be replaced by one of them.”

Hux blinks rapidly, taken aback by the amiable, almost conversational tone Ren has taken. He lets out a rush of air, like a laugh.  _ “Have you given them any reason to believe that I will soon be replaced, sir?” _

“No,” Ren says. “They just make wild assumptions and think themselves clever. It does not help that they think about deposing me, even while still in my presence.”

Hux quirks a brow. His hair is slicked back, but only with the weight of water. This is a different Hux than the one he is used to.  _ “Did you call me for simple gossip? _ ” he asks.  _ “They’re old men, sir. How easily it slips the mind that you are a mind reader.” _

Ren makes a noise of protest. “Gossip? No, of course not,” he says, catching himself. He acts too friendly towards Hux. He cannot have Hux see him as his equal. “This is a courtesy call, to inform you that I will be joining you at the medical resort next cycle. Do not be surprised at my arrival. We have much to discuss, regarding the High Command.”

Hux nods, pressing his lips into a fine line, the gears already set in motion in his mind.  _ “Of course, Supreme Leader,”  _ he says mildly. No sharp words, no clever jab. It’s almost a pity. Ren quite enjoyed their verbal spats.

He’s sure to enjoy whatever Hux thinks up. 

“Good.” Ren disconnects the call without waiting for a response. 

He runs his hands through his hair, tugging at the roots. He cannot forget Hux’s place, how the man had thought to kill him within Snoke’s throne room, how the man salivated for a title of his own.

Hux is a rabid cur. One with its uses.

Ren had better keep the leash short.

*

Nothing has changed much in the Scarif Medical Resort.

Several aging officers who had seen the rise and fall of the Empire sit listlessly in the resort’s main floor. They murmur soft things, eyes half-glazed. They might notice Ren’s presence, but they say nothing of it.

The secretary from before rises quickly, snapping to alertness. “Supreme Leader!” Luis Flow says, smiling, all nerves. He salutes, despite not being part of the military. “I hadn’t been notified about your arrival.”

Ren waves off the gesture. “Where is General Hux?” he asks.

Luis blinks, surprise coloring his otherwise bland features. “Ah, the General,” he repeats. Quietly, he wonders why Ren is here to see him again, why he had not just taken Hux with him the first time. Luis returns behind the desk, pulling up what is most likely Hux’s schedule.

“He’s due for a massage. I’ll take you to the room, sir.” The man hurries, remembering what he took to be Ren’s impatience. 

Ren follows him closely, taking in the atmosphere of the spa. The air is heated. Humid. And grows more heated as they go along slender, barren halls. They pass by droids of all forms. What few humans they do see seem to be employees, dressed in the same calm uniform as Luis.

Finally, Luis comes to a halt. He raps sharply on an unmarked door before sliding it open. “General Hux,” he says. “Supreme Leader Ren is here.”

With that, he leaves, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

The room, if it can be called that, is mostly a wooden platform, overlooking bubbling pools of crystal water. Hux lies on his belly, on a piece of furniture than more resembles a giant cushion, with only a towel hiding his lower half. It does nothing to hide the extensive bruising that runs along his body. 

The droid attending him beeps cautiously, pausing in its work before rolling away, out of the room.

Hux sighs tiredly before sitting up, opening his eyes. “Supreme Leader, what can I do for you?” He holds himself rigidly, his back perfectly straight and his shoulders level.

Now alone, Ren speaks freely. “I’m going to have the High Command killed.”

Hux quirks a brow, crossing his arms across his diminutive chest. “I hope you’re doing so discreetly, sir. You wouldn’t want to cast your rule into suspicion. Mutiny is terrible for one’s reputation.”

“So. How did you kill your father and not have all of the First Order know?”

Hux’s shoulders curl in, as if to protect himself. His eyes are blown wide. He hadn’t known that Ren knew, that Ren even suspected. “Sir…” Hux says slowly, surely thinking of some sort of excuse or deflection.

“I asked a question,” Ren says.

Hux swallows. “There is a beetle on Parnassos that liquifies its victims. Simply had to have one nip him and wait. First Order medics hadn’t seen such a thing before and bacta only speeds the process.”

“Parnassos,” Ren repeats, scrunching up his nose. Another desert planet. Nothing but garbage there.

“It has suffered some rather drastic changes to the climate,” Hux notes. “There are no resources needed by the First Order there, so it’d be difficult to find an excuse to go, sir.”

“I’m the Supreme Leader. When I command, people should listen. I don’t need excuses,” Ren snaps, his teeth grinding together in a painful way.

Hux sighs. “Very well sir. I was just thinking about ways to keep it… discreet. You can’t simply cut down everyone who displeases you.”

Ren’s hands tremble at his sides.

The droid rolls back in, accompanied by a second. They drag in a cushion and towels, matching the ones Hux has. One droid returns to Hux, guiding him to lie on his front again. 

The other comes to stand before Ren, beeping at him.

Ren furrows his brows, even as the droid gestures at the cushion with its specialized hands.

Hux sighs slowly. “Supreme Leader, the droid says you are very tense and in desperate need of a massage.”

Ren glares, first at the droid and then at Hux, who presumed he didn’t understand binary.

The droid rushes him again, its arms tugging his cloak off. Ren lets it. He has not finished his discussion with Hux. Ren undresses himself, feeling Hux’s gaze linger against skin speckled with moles and scars. No shame, no hesitation. Just cool calculation. The droid is quick to cover him, wrapping the clean, fluffy towel around his waist and guiding him to lie on his front.

He opens his mouth, to continue his discussion.

Hux shakes his head, eyes on the droid.

Ah. So Hux is paranoid. 

With reason, Ren thinks.

_ Can you hear me? _ Hux thinks at him, his thoughts thrown carelessly at Ren. For such a Force-null individual, he knew how and when to project what he wanted.

_ I believe there should be a title somewhere there, _ Ren thinks back, his dark gaze on Hux’s face.

If the droids think anything of their strange outer silence, they do not make their thoughts known. Music drifts into the room. Peaceful music, as if to defuse a situation.

Hux rolls his eyes openly, the droid massaging along the column of his spine.  _ Many members of High Command have visited this resort, Supreme Leader. I’d rather be careful around any staff or droids, just in case they’re being paid off or blackmailed. _

Ren does not allow himself to sigh. He should have known the First Order to be filled with such internal politics of assassinations both covert and not.  _ So we kill them before they kill us. Before they suspect a thing. _

_ Oh Ren. Those men have grown more paranoid with age,  _ Hux thinks.  _ Have you been discrete with your comings and goings? _

Ren projects confusion at Hux. Why would he be discrete when he is Supreme Leader?

Hux sighs inside of his mind, tiredness carrying through.  _ Then they must already suspect something is between us. Hopefully they think something simple, like fraternization, and not leap straight to assassination plots. _

_ Fraternization is simple? _

Hux huffs, this time aloud.  _ Well. In theory. _

Ren shakes his head.  _ So, best case scenario they think I’m fucking you. _

_ Or the other way around,  _ Hux amends.  _ Sir. _

Ren raises his brows, but does not comment on how skinny Hux is and now his stamina is likely low and disappointing for any parties involved.  _ And worse case scenario they think their Supreme Leader is plotting with his General to have them killed. I think we’d best plan quickly. _

_ Of course, sir _ , Hux says, the droids continuing in their work.

Ren feels the stiffness of his back and neck dissolve, underneath artificial hands.


End file.
